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    <title>1. CHAPTER IV</title>
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    <div class="chapter" id="id1033844"><h2>1. CHAPTER IV</h2>


<p id="id1033850"><span id="id116347"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->

Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in
interesting situations, that a young person, who either marries
or dies, is sure of being kindly spoken of.
</p>

<p id="id1033856"><span id="id116357"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins’s name was first
mentioned in Highbury, before she was, by some means or other,
discovered to have every recommendation of person and mind;
to be handsome, elegant, highly accomplished, and perfectly amiable: 
and when Mr. Elton himself arrived to triumph in his happy prospects,
and circulate the fame of her merits, there was very little more
for him to do, than to tell her Christian name, and say whose
music she principally played.
</p>

<p id="id1033837"><span id="id116365"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man.  He had gone away rejected
and mortified—disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series
of what appeared to him strong encouragement; and not only losing
the right lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very
wrong one.  He had gone away deeply offended—he came back engaged
to another—and to another as superior, of course, to the first,
as under such circumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. 
He came back gay and self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing
for Miss Woodhouse, and defying Miss Smith.
</p>

<p id="id1033862"><span id="id116372"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual advantages
of perfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune,
of so many thousands as would always be called ten; a point of
some dignity, as well as some convenience:  the story told well;
he had not thrown himself away—he had gained a woman of 10,000 l. 
or thereabouts; and he had gained her with such delightful rapidity—
the first hour of introduction had been so very soon followed by
distinguishing notice; the history which he had to give Mrs. Cole
of the rise and progress of the affair was so glorious—the steps
so quick, from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green’s,
and the party at Mrs. Brown’s—smiles and blushes rising in importance—
with consciousness and agitation richly scattered—the lady
had been so easily impressed—so sweetly disposed—had in short,
to use a most intelligible phrase, been so very ready to have him,
that vanity and prudence were equally contented.
</p>

<p id="id1033866"><span id="id116378"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
He had caught both substance and shadow—both fortune and affection,
and was just the happy man he ought to be; talking only of himself
and his own concerns—expecting to be congratulated—ready to be
laughed at—and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing
all the young ladies of the place, to whom, a few weeks ago,
he would have been more cautiously gallant.
</p>

<p id="id1033869"><span id="id116386"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had only themselves
to please, and nothing but the necessary preparations to wait for;
and when he set out for Bath again, there was a general expectation,
which a certain glance of Mrs. Cole’s did not seem to contradict,
that when he next entered Highbury he would bring his bride.
</p>

<p id="id1033872"><span id="id116392"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen him; but just
enough to feel that the first meeting was over, and to give her
the impression of his not being improved by the mixture of pique
and pretension, now spread over his air.  She was, in fact,
beginning very much to wonder that she had ever thought him pleasing
at all; and his sight was so inseparably connected with some very
disagreeable feelings, that, except in a moral light, as a penance,
a lesson, a source of profitable humiliation to her own mind,
she would have been thankful to be assured of never seeing him again. 
She wished him very well; but he gave her pain, and his welfare
twenty miles off would administer most satisfaction.
</p>

<p id="id1033875"><span id="id116399"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however, must certainly
be lessened by his marriage.  Many vain solicitudes would be prevented—
many awkwardnesses smoothed by it.  A Mrs. Elton would be an excuse for
any change of intercourse; former intimacy might sink without remark. 
It would be almost beginning their life of civility again.
</p>

<p id="id1033878"><span id="id116408"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Of the lady, individually, Emma thought very little.  She was good
enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished enough for Highbury—
handsome enough—to look plain, probably, by Harriet’s side. 
As to connexion, there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded,
that after all his own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet,
he had done nothing.  On that article, truth seemed attainable. 
What she was, must be uncertain; but who she was, might be found out;
and setting aside the 10,000 l., it did not appear that she was at
all Harriet’s superior.  She brought no name, no blood, no alliance. 
Miss Hawkins was the youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol—
merchant, of course, he must be called; but, as the whole of the
profits of his mercantile life appeared so very moderate, it was
not unfair to guess the dignity of his line of trade had been very
moderate also.  Part of every winter she had been used to spend in Bath;
but Bristol was her home, the very heart of Bristol; for though
the father and mother had died some years ago, an uncle remained—
in the law line—nothing more distinctly honourable was hazarded
of him, than that he was in the law line; and with him the daughter
had lived.  Emma guessed him to be the drudge of some attorney,
and too stupid to rise.  And all the grandeur of the connexion
seemed dependent on the elder sister, who was very well married,
to a gentleman in a great way, near Bristol, who kept two carriages! 
That was the wind-up of the history; that was the glory of
Miss Hawkins.
</p>

<p id="id1033882"><span id="id116416"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it all! 
She had talked her into love; but, alas! she was not so easily to be
talked out of it.  The charm of an object to occupy the many vacancies
of Harriet’s mind was not to be talked away.  He might be superseded
by another; he certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer;
even a Robert Martin would have been sufficient; but nothing else,
she feared, would cure her.  Harriet was one of those, who,
having once begun, would be always in love.  And now, poor girl!
she was considerably worse from this reappearance of Mr. Elton. 
She was always having a glimpse of him somewhere or other.  Emma saw
him only once; but two or three times every day Harriet was sure
just to meet with him, or just to miss him, just to hear his voice,
or see his shoulder, just to have something occur to preserve him
in her fancy, in all the favouring warmth of surprize and conjecture. 
She was, moreover, perpetually hearing about him; for, excepting when
at Hartfield, she was always among those who saw no fault in Mr. Elton,
and found nothing so interesting as the discussion of his concerns;
and every report, therefore, every guess—all that had already
occurred, all that might occur in the arrangement of his affairs,
comprehending income, servants, and furniture, was continually
in agitation around her.  Her regard was receiving strength by
invariable praise of him, and her regrets kept alive, and feelings
irritated by ceaseless repetitions of Miss Hawkins’s happiness,
and continual observation of, how much he seemed attached!—
his air as he walked by the house—the very sitting of his hat,
being all in proof of how much he was in love!
</p>

<p id="id1033860"><span id="id116424"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been no pain
to her friend, or reproach to herself, in the waverings of
Harriet’s mind, Emma would have been amused by its variations. 
Sometimes Mr. Elton predominated, sometimes the Martins; and each
was occasionally useful as a check to the other.  Mr. Elton’s
engagement had been the cure of the agitation of meeting Mr. Martin. 
The unhappiness produced by the knowledge of that engagement had been
a little put aside by Elizabeth Martin’s calling at Mrs. Goddard’s
a few days afterwards.  Harriet had not been at home; but a note had
been prepared and left for her, written in the very style to touch;
a small mixture of reproach, with a great deal of kindness;
and till Mr. Elton himself appeared, she had been much occupied
by it, continually pondering over what could be done in return,
and wishing to do more than she dared to confess.  But Mr. Elton,
in person, had driven away all such cares.  While he staid,
the Martins were forgotten; and on the very morning of his setting off
for Bath again, Emma, to dissipate some of the distress it occasioned,
judged it best for her to return Elizabeth Martin’s visit.
</p>

<p id="id1033892"><span id="id116429"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
How that visit was to be acknowledged—what would be necessary—
and what might be safest, had been a point of some doubtful
consideration.  Absolute neglect of the mother and sisters,
when invited to come, would be ingratitude.  It must not be: 
and yet the danger of a renewal of the acquaintance!—
</p>

<p id="id1033896"><span id="id116434"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
After much thinking, she could determine on nothing better, than Harriet’s
returning the visit; but in a way that, if they had understanding,
should convince them that it was to be only a formal acquaintance. 
She meant to take her in the carriage, leave her at the Abbey Mill,
while she drove a little farther, and call for her again so soon,
as to allow no time for insidious applications or dangerous
recurrences to the past, and give the most decided proof of what
degree of intimacy was chosen for the future.
</p>

<p id="id1033887"><span id="id116441"><!--anchor--></span><!--after-->
She could think of nothing better:  and though there was something
in it which her own heart could not approve—something of ingratitude,
merely glossed over—it must be done, or what would become of Harriet?
</p>



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